


How to Fall Apart Gracefully

by littlesnowpea



Series: someday this pain will be useful to you [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Domestic Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 14:38:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesnowpea/pseuds/littlesnowpea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Events have a funny way of sticking in your mind, in your heart sometimes, like glitter on glue or peanut butter on toast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Fall Apart Gracefully

**Author's Note:**

> This deals with rape and domestic violence. It never happened, thank god, at least as far as I know. This is the first in a three-part trilogy, which is complete.

**_November._**

**_  
_ **

The air conditioning was on too high, like always. It roared in Antti’s ear, it chilled him through the blankets he was wrapped in, but he couldn’t go turn it down.

He reasoned with himself that it was really only because Cristobal liked the cold, that it was Cristobal’s _preference_ to sleep in the freezing temperature. He tried to make himself believe that instead of the truth- the simple fact that the mere idea of messing up something Cristobal had set scared him beyond all comprehension.

The clock across the room ticked another minute past.

Tick.

He sighed and turned his face into the pillow, closing his eyes. Cris snored beside him and his back ached (it hurt, it hurt so bad, but he was kind of used to it, if he was going to continue the lying-to-himself trend) and the silence between snores seemed to reach around him and suffocate him, laugh at him, taunt him.

_you’re so stupid, you’re exactly what they said you’d be, you’re worthless, you’re a slut_

His heart fluttered and he sighed again, curling up tight against the world. He took a final glance at the darkness around him and then shut his eyes tight again, retreating back, far away.

It was weird.

Antti always thought he was better than this.

\--

_**September.**_

_**  
** _

_“Move in with me?”_

_Antti choked on his coffee and Cristobal had the good grace to blush a bit and look embarrassed before plunging ahead and continuing like he didn’t see the sheen in Antti’s eyes or the incredulous look across his face._

_“I want you.....to move in with me, Antti,” Cristobal fidgeted with his Starbucks cup, pushing it around and around until Antti laid a hand atop his wrist. He met the Finn’s eyes, smiling at Antti’s tilted head._

_“I’ve been thinking a lot, and we’ve...we’ve been um, the word?” Cristobal sighed and gave himself a little shake before starting over. “We’ve been going out for six months, yes? And I’ve been thinking. Um. I...I love you._ Je t’aime. _And I’d really like you to move in with me?”_

_Antti stared at the French man across from him, his heart jumping in his chest. Was this fast? Was this all happening too fast?_

_“Yes,” the word left his mouth before he could restrain himself. Cristobal looked up quickly, a grin spreading across his handsome face. Antti blushed, like always when those grey eyes trained on him, and flashed a timid smile in return._

_“Really?”_

_Antti nodded._

_Cristobal laughed, looking up as if to address God directly, but thought better of it, leaning across the table to kiss Antti instead._

_“Oh Antti,” he sighed._

_“I love you, too.” Antti smiled and Cristobal kissed him softly again._

__

_\--_

**_December._**

**_  
_ **

Sometimes the words hurt more than the fists ever could.

“I hate you, you disgusting little _fuck!_ ”

With or without the accompanying slap, the blow hit Antti like a freight train slamming into a brick wall. He couldn’t meet Cristobal’s eyes, he couldn’t look into Cristobal’s face, all he can do was stare at the floor like that was the only thing he could see, fighting back tears and twisting his hands.

“You will NEVER be good enough!”

Antti swallowed painfully and his skin tugged with the next twist.

“Are you LISTENING to me?”

Twist.

Cristobal grabbed his chin painfully and Antti cried out as his boyfriend yanked his head up to face him. 

“Shut up. _Shut_ up. I asked you a question,” Cris’s eyes were dark and full of fury and spite and Antti wanted to run, run away now. Run away to Finland, run back to his mother and his sister and his older brother that promised to never let something like this happen to him. He wanted to run, run to someone, beg someone- but he had no one.

“Please don’t, Cris,” Antti’s voice was quiet, his accent masking his real voice, small. He was _small_. He was _small_ and he was _worthless._ He wondered if words had even left his lips or if he had imagined that, too. 

He gave a weak, pathetic push and Cris’ eyes flashed. Wrong, wrong again, wrong like usual, wrong forever. 

“ _Pyydan_ ,” Antti tried one more time. “ _Pyydan ei._ ”

It didn’t matter, not a bit. Antti saw the slap as of it happened in slow motion- Cris’ angry face, his arm raising, Antti’s own endless step back, the way he turned away as if that’d protect him. His head twisted back, shoving his body forward first, and his eyes flickered to the doorway of the dressing room.

Red hair, expressionless face, watchful eyes, ignorant to the silent pleas Antti sent him. Brian looked at him, looked at Cristobal, looked back at him, and Antti blinked.

Please.

Antti’s heart dropped like a stone and then real life sped back up and hit him like a grenade. Cris’ hand caught Antti’s face and Antti stumbled back, hitting the wall and sinking to the floor. Cris grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet, shaking him hard enough to dislodge the tears that had threatened him all evening. He gasped out apologies and pleas that fell on deaf ears over and over, like every. other. time.

_Fingers wrapped around his throat._

He chanced a glance to the doorway, mouth opening to vocalize his pleas for help, for rescue, for redemption, but the red-haired witness had gone. Antti slumped.

Antti thought he was better than this.

He now knew that nobody, least of all himself, believed it. 

\--

**_January._**

**_  
_ **

Antti didn’t believe in God anymore. It was laughable to think that the kind and loving God his mother had always told him about existed so far above him anymore. He couldn’t comprehend that God was there when he couldn’t sit still comfortably without waves of pain rolling over him and when he felt so nauseated he could barely eat- and he only ever ate anymore when Brian found out he wasn’t eating and _made_ him eat. 

Antti couldn’t believe in God when Cris slapped him carelessly and pulled his hair and didn’t bother apologizing like he used to anymore. Antti couldn’t believe in God when he couldn’t even tell the difference between “I love you” and “I hate you” and either phrase made him feel like retching. 

_(“I love you,” Cristobal whispered into Antti’s ear. The crowd roared feet from where they stood and Antti swallowed thickly, focusing down, on the carpet, imagining he could see through the ground into the under levels of the arena, imagining he could see the crew going about their business, ignoring everything else but their jobs._

_“I love you and I adore you,” the heavy French accent invaded his brain, twisting all his words._

_“I love you t-too,” Antti blamed it on the accent._

_“You better,” Cris said with a kiss that felt like fire.)_

Antti couldn’t believe in God, because if God existed, Cris wouldn’t be here and Antti wouldn’t be in pain and he wouldn’t feel like he was drowning, alone and helpless.

He _was_ alone. 

He couldn’t really understand why Brian was still here, still feeding him, and icing him, and keeping his secrets and keeping him sane. Brian knew about him, knew about Cristobal, didn’t approve of homosexuality- and still, he stayed. He opened his front door at any hour, he let Antti in, he took care of him. Antti once thought that maybe it was because Brian cared, but he quickly erased that thought.

Antti never bothered fooling himself anymore.

\--

**_February._**

**_  
_ **

The man was beautiful, Antti decided. He raised the mug to his lips and took a slow sip of coffee, a smile stretching across his lips without his thinking about it. The man was beautiful, he was funny, he was _kind_ (Antti remembered walking up to the table with Antero’s friends and the man immediately pulling out the chair for him) and Antti couldn’t quite bring himself to really believe he was _here_ in Vancouver. He couldn’t yet allow himself to be kind-of, sort-of, _exactly_ where Cristobal told him he was _definitely_ not allowed to go.

He pushed down that thought, if only to spare his poor, stressed-out heart, and focused back on the table.

“Well, at least they found your bag, Yevi,” the man consoled the Russian. “It’d be awful if you were forced to lose to Finland in borrowed gear.”

“Fuck you,” Evgeni informed the general public and leaned over to try and pinch Joe Thornton. “Especially yhou.”

“Time and place,” the Canadian winked suggestively and Evgeni flushed deeply. Antti laughed and clapped a hand over his mouth when the other goalie turned to glare at him.

“Ease up, Yevi,” the beautiful man taunted and slung an arm around Antti.

_his heart skipped_

“Whatever,” Evgeni muttered, but he smiled over at Antti and Antero laughed.

“Got a soft spot for baby goalies then?” the other Finn asked and Antti blushed, glaring at his friend. 

“ _Mina en ole vauvani!”_ he hissed over at him, but Antero just laughed.

“What’d he say?” Thornton asked cheerfully. “We speak _English_ here.”

Antero ignored him in favor of teasing Antti.

“You are too a baby,” he tugged on Antti’s ear and laughed at the answering scowl. 

“Not so much, from what I heard,” Thornton said smugly, tossing an arm around Evgeni’s shoulders. Antti pretended not to notice the way the Russian leaned into him with a fond smile, tried to ignore the pang of hurt and _jealousy_ that bubbled in his stomach.

“Why?” Evgeni asked, looking over at Antti, who suddenly felt quite uncomfortable.

“He’s about to knock the other goalie, whats-his-name, out of the starting position, isn’t that right, eh?” Thornton looked over expectantly at Antti, who rather thought he would melt into the floor. Suddenly,, he could hear harsh French in his ear and he swallowed thickly and gave a small nod of his head.

_he’d been angry all the time lately._

Antero’s hand found his under the table and he looked blankly over at his friend. Antero was looking at him like he was just now working something out and Antti looked away quickly.

_He knew,_ Antti realized, and his heart burned with shame.

“What _is_ his name, eh?” Thornton asked curiously, oblivious to the sudden tension developing across the table. “Cristopher or something, right?”

“Cristobal,” Antti found himself answering quietly. He glanced over at Antero, who’s face had morphed into something resembling grief, and looked back at the Canadian. The beautiful man’s arm was warming his shoulders. “C-Cristobal Huet.”

\--

“I remember saying no.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“Shut the _fuck_ up!”

His cheek burned and he fought back tears and Cristobal was over him and he couldn’t _breathe_.

He fought fought _fought_ against a whimper but it came out anyway and Cris laughed in his face and his hot breath invaded Antti’s lungs and he wanted to scream.

“But you’re gone for two _fucking_ weeks,” Cristobal slapped him again, harder, pushing his weight against Antti’s and holding him to the bed. “And how was I supposed to get mine, huh? How the _fuck_ was I supposed to get mine?”

Antti felt blood run down his throat.

“I’m sorry!” he begged, and Cristobal twisted his wrist until Antti cried out in pain.

“Fuck. You.” Cris emphasized slowly. “Two weeks without telling me, Antti, to Vancouver, where I said not to go. I am not happy.”

Antti knew he wasn’t. Antti’s swollen mouth and bruised cheeks knew it, too.

“I couldn’t get what I needed from you, Antti, so I went somewhere else, Antti, what do you think of that, _Antti!”_

The wild punch just missed it’s mark but Antti choked out a sob as stars exploded in front of  his vision. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whimpered, tears slipping from his eyes. He couldn’t fight them and Cristobal anymore.

“Not yet,” Cristobal said lowly. Dangerously. Antti froze, waiting for the next blow, but none came. He cracked his eyes open slowly and Cristobal smirked.

Suddenly, his shirt was ripped off, despite his struggles, and Cristobal manhandled him back down to the mattress. 

“Oh, _hush,_ Antti, I think it’s the _least_ I deserve,” he cooed and Antti wanted to retch. “You, flying off to Canada without me, hanging around with a _German_ , I think I _deserve_ to fucking _get mine_!”

Antti let out a desperate sob as he shook his head.

“N-no, Cristobal, p-please,” he pleaded, tears choking his words, making him sound small, pathetic, low. “P-please, baby, n-not now, I’m s-sorry-”

Cristobal rolled his eyes and pressed his mouth against Antti’s.

Antti choked.

“Stop, Antti,” and his voice was calmer, gentler. “It’s because I love you. This is because I love you.”

Antti made no struggle as Cristobal easily continued stripping them both. 

“Over.”

He did not move.

“You _fuck._ I said turn _over!_ ” 

Cristobal yanked a handful of his hair and Antti gave a strangled scream before complying, crying fully now. 

“Stop fucking crying,” Cristobal snarled. “You know you deserve it.” He forcibly turned Antti’s head aside, sinking his teeth into Antti’s neck and working in a furious hickey. Antti wanted to peel his skin off, burn himself, die.

Just let it be _over._

Cristobal pulled away and smirked down at the expressionless Antti, who’s head was turned away from the pillow, staring blankly to the side.

“You disgust me,” Cristobal said,  fumbling with his clothes, his voice cruel. Antti made no indication he’d heard, building a wall, an ocean, a _world_ between them. Cristobal snorted, tangling his fingers in Antti’s hair and _pulling_ before entering him.

It _burned._ It _burned_ and _hurt,_ it _hurt_ so fucking badly, and Antti wished he had just agreed. He wished he’s just said _yes_ and maybe there’d be lube and maybe kissing any maybe something that didn’t feel like he was a whore, a useless whore. Cristobal made him _ache,_ and Antti bit his lip hard when Cris began to thrust.

Antti realized before he gave himself over to quiet, painful sobs, that he really wasn’t all that sorry for leaving at all.

\--

**_March._**

**_  
_ **

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

Brian sighed and the line crackled. Antti bit into his third knuckle, carefully avoiding looking down at the bedsheets, which he knew had the same color decorating them as the color currently staining his finger.

“Antti-”

“Why?” Antti interrupted, wincing for a slap that never came. His voice cracked on the question and Brian paused. The silence extended to Antti’s lungs before he gave himself a little shake and took a deep breath.

“Why do you care?” the question came out as little more than a whisper, a few words hidden in his breath. There was a pause, and Antti could tell Brian was struggling for words so he plowed on. “I know you d-don’t like p-people.....people like me.”

Brian sighed and Antti wished things weren’t so complicated, wished a lot of things in that moment.

_If wishes were fishes...._

“Antti, I.....” Brian trailed off before clearing his throat and continuing on with a new facade of bravery. “I was wrong. About everything.”

“........what?”

Dead silence. Then-

“I was wrong,” Brian said and suddenly it sounded  to Antti like a weight was gone from their conversation. Brian sounded freer, more sure, more everything Antti wasn’t and the Finn waited, heart racing.

“Everything I used to believe was wrong,” Brain said, voice trembling with something like relief. “Everything I used to think, everything I was so damn _scared of_ was _wrong._ And you showed me that Antti and-”

He paused.

“And I’d do anything to stop you from hurting.”

“I’m fi-” 

“Don’t lie to me, Antti Niemi. I can hear it when you do,” Brian overrode him, voice cracking with earnest. “What did he do?”

“Nothing.”

“Antti.”

Silence, then Brian tried again, voice gentle.

“How bad was it?

“Not that bad,” Antti lied through his teeth. He cringed when he heard Brian sigh again and charged ahead. “He’s just mad y-you know. About this guy.”

“This guy?”

“That German,” Antti elaborated, his heart skipping. He gestured to no one and bit his knuckle again. 

“The one you told me about, from Vancouver?”

_the beautiful man_

Antti made a noncommittal noise, glancing down at his legs.

“Stop biting your knuckle,” Brian said. “And why would he be mad about him?”

“Cris doesn’t like Germans,” Antti explained. It came out like a whisper, an oath, and Antti ignored his finger and chewed his lip instead.

Brian sighed.

“How’s your face?” he asked, worried. 

“Pretty,” Antti answered sarcastically, and winced. Brian laughed humorlessly.

“What will you say?”

“To Coach?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m sick.”

“Of course,” Brian muttered something under his breath, but Antti couldn’t hear. Blood rushed out of him and his heart dropped as he heart the front door open.

_All he could see was an angry fist._

“I have to go.”

“He’s back?”

Antti didn’t answer, just ended the call and tossed the phone to the ground where he’d found it. He curled up on his side under the sheet as footsteps on the stairs made his heart race and palms sweat.

The room door opened and Antti closed his eyes, wishing for Finland, for Brian, for the beautiful man.

\--

**_April._**

**_  
_ **

“Evgeni was raped,” Brian informed him in the dressing room, quiet so the news didn’t become public scandal.

Antti felt his face pale and he looked incredulously at Brian. 

“What?” he demanded softly, memory swimming with the sweet Russian across the table from him, looking up lovingly at Thornton. He grabbed the locker shelf as he started to sway.

Brian looked around.

“At Vancouver,” he said grimly. “By a non-Olympian. Although, I think you and I both know who it might have been.” His words were biting, angry, and Antti flinched. He’d never heard Brian like this before. 

_you and I both know who it might have been._

_you and I both know._

_you and I both know._

Who it **_had_** been.

Antti was slow to process, memories hitting him all at once.

_I didn’t get what I needed from you, Antti, so I went somewhere else, Antti!_

“What’s going on, ladies?” Cristobal’s voice echoed dimly in Antti’s ears and he felt Brian glance at him.

The blood rushed back to his brain as he finally comprehended what Brian was implying and he sank slowly to the bench, eyes wide and unseeing, hand clapped to his mouth.

“Friend of his,” Brian said curtly. “Bad news.”

“Antti?” Cristobal looked down at him and he shuddered, burying his face in his hands.

_this was his fault. all antti’s fault. antti caused this. his fault._

“Antti!” it was a demand, not a question now, and Antti flinched. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brian swallow thickly, visibly restraining himself from getting in between his friend and Cristobal. 

“What’s wrong?” his grip on Antti’s wrist was tight, too tight, and Antti met Cristobal’s angry eyes, harsh lines around his mouth where that warm September smile had been absent for a long time. 

He wanted to retch at the thought of Evgeni, poor Evgeni, and what had Cristobal’s face looked like when he did it, what did he say to poor Evgeni, and did Evgeni beg as hard as Antti had done?

He met Cristobal’s eyes.

“I’m breaking up with you,” he said quietly, slowly, like he couldn’t quite believe the words either. 

“Excuse me?” 

Cristobal’s voice was loud, louder than Antti’s, and the entire dressing room went silent.

“You heard him,” Brian’s voice was cold, cruel, and he leveled a glare at the French man that had him stepping back and blinking before he recovered himself.

“Not you, ginger,” he spat. “I was talking to my boyfriend.”

“Ex,” Antti corrected, standing. His heart pounded in fear, trepidation, and _misery._ “Because I am _breaking up with you._ ”

Cristobal gaped, unable to come up with words. He looked into Antti’s face- into, not down, Antti was _sick and tired_ of Cristobal looking _down_ at him- and the seriousness hit him visibly.

“You’re crazy,” he managed.

“No,” Brian interrupted. “He’s smart, smarter than you, and he wised up.”

Cristobal snorted but Antti overrode him.

“Please leave now,” he said quietly. “I’ll get my things from your house later.”

“Alright,” Cristobal nodded, his eyes disgusted and furious. “Alright, but you will regret this.”

“Over my dead body,” Brian hissed lowly.

Cristobal smirked, an ugly and twisted look that Antti wanted to vomit at.

“If it comes to that.”

The threat hung pregnant in the air before Cristobal laughed and leaned close to Antti’s stoic face.

The entire locker room was watching but Antti braced himself for a hit.

“Bye, babe,” Cristobal whispered and left.

Antti sank to the floor, air rushing from his lungs in a fast _whoosh_.

In the back of his mind, he knew it wasn’t over yet.

\--

It was better this way. It was _better_ this way- it’s what Brian kept telling him, over and over, whenever Antti called. It was better this way.

Three AM, when Antti couldn’t sleep and he stared at the ceiling and thought of the September smile.

_It’s better like this Antti, you’ll find someone different, someone right._

Right before gametime, with Antti’s eyes on Cris’s back, Brian pulled into an office, arm awkwardly around him and his gear.

_Don’t forget you’re better without him._

Most of all, it was when Antti’s heart ached and his mind recounted all the things Cris had said and Antti couldn’t help but think maybe- Cris had been right?

_No. He’s wrong, Antti. Everything will be ok._

It was better this way. Antti stared at the water filling his bathtub in the apartment he hadn’t used since eight months ago. It swirled around the edges and he could practically _feel_ himself relaxing at the warmth that washed over him. His eyes briefly fluttered closed and he just _breathed._

He had missed this, he realized. He had missed being alone for awhile, _allowed to be alone for awhile,_ and he missed doing what he wanted. 

He put his feet in the tub and smiled.

_“Votre enfant stupide.”_

The sound of the harsh French made Antti jump, falling back off the side of the tub and crashing to the floor. He looked up through hooded eyes at Cristobal (because that was who this was, _of course_ that was who it was, just when Antti thought he was free, _of course_ he was wrong) and the man smirked. 

“Missed me?” he asked. Antti didn’t reply, lips pressed together in a thin line, schooling his body into perfect obedience. He forced back the tremors that had overtaken him the second he’d heard the French and carefully climbed back to his feet.

“Why are you here?” he demanded, with more confidence than he really had. “Leave.”

Cristobal laughed at that, really laughed, a full bodied thing that chilled Antti to his bones. He crouched down to Antti’s level on the floor and ran his fingers through the blonde hair possessively.

“I told you you’d be sorry,” he breathed, giving a shark yank to Antti’s hair. Antti clamped down on the yelp of pain that threatened to escape, breathing hard. Another yank and Antti complied and climbed to his feet, glaring fiercely into Cristobal’s eyes. The older man looked incredulous for a moment and then began to chuckle. 

It was _terrifying_. 

“Gotten a bit brave for my tastes,” he snarled, smacking Antti across the face. The sting awoke Antti somewhere deep inside, and a voice that sounded something like Brian’s began to shout at him _Antti, Antti, fight back, Antti!_

He pushed hard at the Frenchman, a cry tearing from his throat painfully, but the man was bigger and stronger and probably wiser now, and he grunted and pinned Antti against him with ease. Antti squirmed and pushed, but it felt like he was in a vice, squeezing tighter and tighter and he might pop.

“Easy there, Antti,” Cristobal hissed. “This will get you nowhere and you _know_ it, so calm down.”

Antti didn’t listen and Cristobal crushed the Finn to his chest, the air _whooshing_ out of Antti’s lungs at once.

“I said calm down,” Cristobal snarled. “Besides, deep down- you know you deserve this.”

“Please, let me go. Just let me go,” Antti was panicking now, shoving and pulling away with all his might- but all his might _wasn’t working_ and he didn’t know what to do.

Suddenly, he was lifted, his feet kicking desperately to find the ground, but it wasn’t there and suddenly, _water._

“No! No, no, no, **_no!_** ” 

And Antti suddenly found his voice and began to _scream,_ thrashing at the bathwater, soaking Cristobal, and searching for everything and nothing all at once. 

“Shut the fuck up!”

Water. Water everywhere, over his head and in his mouth and he couldn’t _breathe_ and all he could think of was NO NO NO CRISTOBAL STOP PLEASE NO and in his mind he screamed for Brian, for the beautiful man from Vancouver, for his mother, for his brother, but he couldn’t _breathe_ and he saw black dots in his vision and suddenly, he couldn’t really move and-

\--

When he woke up, he was in bed, wrapped in blankets in a dark room. His head pounded and he searched for anything he could find that he knew, to no avail.

“He’s gone.” 

The unexpected voice made him jump and yelp in fright and suddenly, Brian was there, apologetic look written across his face, lines of guilt and misery etched in his mouth. He sat on the end of the bed and Antti breathed, _in out_ , slowly until his heart returned to normal.

“I’m sorry, Antti,” Brian said softly. “I am so sorry. I should have heard him come in, but I didn’t and I should have and I am _so sorry_.”

Antti shook his head, wanting to say _no_ and _it’s ok_ and _you saved me, right_ but no words came out. Brian sighed shakily.

“Are you alright?”

Antti crumpled, reaching for his best friend, letting himself be enveloped in his arms. He turned his face away and began to cry, cry hard, into the soft shoulder, and he just _clung_ to the other man. Sentences were streaming, muffled out of Antti’s mouth, phrases like _I’m sorry_ and  _I tried_ and _Promise he’s gone_? And all Brian could do was hush and reassure and suddenly, Antti was silent. He buried his face into Brian’s neck and _breathed_.

No words were needed.

“Everything’s going to be ok, Antti,” Brian whispered, and Antti believed him.


End file.
